Thicker Than Water
by SHERlockedFangirl
Summary: Mycroft approaches Sherlock with a case. There's one final piece of the puzzle left to solve, one final part of the web to dismantle. But with more players in the game, including Myrcroft's intriguing new assistant, the stakes are raised and there is a lot more left to lose this time. The game is on again.
1. Chapter 1

"Well, it's obvious what's going to happen, isn't it? Clearly the villain figure in this 'classic' adaptation from a quite frankly ridiculous book is going to be the character that we've all grown to trust, who's using the very obviously mislead man who's clearly only here to detract attention from the actual villain. So it's got to be-"

_Thwump._

The union jack patterned cushion hit Sherlock squarely in the face.

"Sherlock, when you listed what you considered to be the worst about you when we first met in Bart's, you should have included you're infuriating habit of deducing, and then revealing the plots to films before I actually get to watch them."

John crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

It was just another night at 221B Baker Street. John and Sherlock had recently got into a routine where John addressed the obvious gaps in Sherlock's cultural knowledge by introducing him to films and music that John thought he ought to know. It had started with John's collection of Bond films, which he was very proud to say was complete. Sherlock had deemed each and every one of these 'dull and predictable'. John had then moved onto try Monty Python, which Sherlock dubbed 'idiotic and plain ridiculous'.

It had gone on like this, no matter what John tried. From Lord Of The Rings - "good God, people actually enjoy this kind of thing? - to The Godfather - "and this is a 'classic'? - Pulp Fiction - "boring. John, I'm bored" - and even Forrest Gump - "honestly John, your attempt to 'educate me' is quite frankly, embarrassing".

John was now trying his luck with The Davinci Code and, surprise surprise, Sherlock was not impressed, hence the plot deducing and subsequent pillow to the face. That sat on either end of the sofa, John with his feet firmly on the floor whilst Sherlock tucked his feet under his legs. John's left arm rested comfortably on the arm of the sofa, with his right lying along the back, having just used it to smash the cushion as hard as he saw fit into the lanky, curly haired genius's face.

Despite all of this, John enjoyed the domesticity that seemed to have settled itself over Baker Street. He probably shouldn't have, all things considered, but he did.

It had been over two years since his and Mary's divorce, giving John plenty of time to get over his heartbreak and betrayal which occurred the minute he heard her confess to shooting Sherlock. Mary had been important, and John had loved her dearly. But Sherlock had come first, he always had, and probably always would. Shooting him, causing him to flat-line, forcing him to struggle against his own body for his life, and leave months of agony afterwards, it had crossed a line. There had never been a hope of forgiveness. John had stayed with her, but the resentment had always been there. It was only a matter of time until their marriage broke down. If he was honest, it was only sheer stubbornness that made it last as long as it did.

Their daughter, Olivia, had gone with Mary after they split. John didn't try to deny Mary the right to custody. John still got regular updates about Olivia and Mary's welfare. And they visited every other weekend, giving John plenty of time to bond with and get to know his beautiful daughter. Olivia had inherited her mother's blonde hair, John's blue eyes and also his nose. To them, she was utterly perfect, and the fact that they were no longer married did not find them with differentiating opinions of their daughter. Olivia was perfect, end of argument. She was coming up to three years old and was obsessed with all things pink.

Olivia also seemed quite taken with Sherlock. She was fascinated by his work, and giggled gleefully whenever he behaved as if he was also three years old. She often accompanied sherlock and himself to the less dangerous crime scenes. The yarders were used to the unusual arrangement now, and were constantly cooing over his beautiful little girl. She seemed to have Anderson and Donovan wrapped around her little finger, which Sherlock had told her on the way back in the cab as she sat on his lap that it would come in very useful, even encouraging her. He's planted a kiss on the top of her head after she smiled up at him with a look of complete adoration. Sherlock was obviously just as smitten with Olivia as she was with him. It was adorable.

It was a good life. Not perfect by a long shot, but John was happy, Sherlock was happy, Mary (John assumed) was happy, and Olivia was growing to be the most spoiled child in Britain.

Not a lot could interrupt John's continuous state of contentment - which, when asked to describe, John would say felt like a warm ray of sunshine that never disappeared behind any clouds - except, maybe, one thing.

"What do you want, Mycroft?"

Mycroft's expression was sour enough to curdle milk. Clearly he had not been expecting such a hostile reception, especially from his own baby brother. But John sympathised with Sherlock's irritation. Mycroft had interrupted what had been a calm, relaxed evening (minus the cushion incident), which John had been enjoying until Mycroft strolled into the living room as if he owned it, as he so often did.

There was only one difference from Mycroft's regular visits. He was not alone. Of course, it was not unusual for Mycroft to be accompanied on his visits to Baker Street as he often had Anthea with him. But the young lady who had entered the room behind him was certainly not his usual assistant.

She was petite - short, not yet as tall as John, with a thin waist and small, yet defined hips. She was very smartly dressed, it a black shift dress that was bought in at her waist, further exaggerating her hips. The sleeves were cut off at the shoulders, revealing her toned arms. Her skin was pale, nearly translucent, except the barely noticeable pink flush cresting her well defined cheekbones. Her hair was red, but a deep mahogany red, which was scraped up into a neat bun at the back of her head, but this did not hide the mess of curls that she was obviously trying to contain. If it was not obvious by the stands of curry hair that had broken fee of the hairstyle, then it was the small curl that rested artistically along the curve her right cheek, which she tucked behind her ear with her delicate fingers - perfectly manicured, of course. Her eyes were a sparkling pale green, which looked familiar, and yet John could not put his finger on where he had seen such a striking colour before. In her hands lay the customary blackberry phone which accompanied each and every one of Mycroft's assistants. At the moment, it was simply resting in her hands, as her eyes swept the room, seeming to take in every detail that she was able to about her surroundings. At least this young woman had the good manners to actually pay attention to what was happening around her, rather than diverting her whole attention to the small device in her hands - a habit that was regularly indulged by Anthea

What struck John the most was how young she seemed to be. She could not have been any older than seventeen years old, which made John wonder: what on earth was so special about this girl that made Mycroft hire her at such a young age.

"Am I not allowed to simply enquire after my dear younger brother?" Mycroft's voice was full of the same patronising smugness that he seemed to radiate every time he walked into a room. He chose to sit in John's old, and yet infinitely comfortable armchair without waiting to be asked, and turned back so he could view the consulting detective and the former army doctor, neither of whom had moved an inch, accustomed to Mycroft's unannounced visits.

"No," came Sherlock's short reply.

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes at Sherlock. The young girl - who had not moved from the doorway - watched the exchange with a slightly cautious expression.

"Sherlock, let's not play childish games."

"What for? Don't want to show yourself up in front of your new assistant? Don't want her knowing that you're not everything you claim to be?"

"Sherlock-" John started to warn him. It was all very well if the two brothers wanted to argue like petty five-year-olds in the presence of John, as he was plenty used to the childish barbs that Sherlock and Mycroft threw at each other. But it made John uncomfortable for them to do so in front of other people.

"See what I mean, Adelaide?"

Mycroft turned his attention to the young lady - Adelaide - who nodded in return, never taking her eyes off of Sherlock.

"Adelaide?" Sherlock's head snapped towards the girl in the doorway. Her eyebrow quirked at the sudden attention, but apart from that seemed unfazed by Sherlock's gaze, which was now raking over her, analysing every and any piece of information about this girl.

"Yes, after my grandmother." Her voice was light, silvery and warm. He would not be unhappy if Olivia grew up to have such a voice. You could quite happily listen to it for hours, even if it talked about inane subjects it would sound absolutely fascinating. It would make you feel safe if you faced danger. It would make you feel loved and cherished if it spoke words of comfort. Yes, her voice was beautiful, singular, entrancing.

Sherlock's eyes widened in sudden realisation, before his face fell into a softer expression, reminiscent. His eyes had a warmth to them as he watched Adelaide.

"I think it's a very beautiful name," he spoke softly. John tried not to show his surprise, but guessed that everyone in the room already knew. It was impossible to hide anything from the Holmes brothers, and judging by the way her eyes had swept the room upon entering it, John assumed that Adelaide possessed the same astuteness when it came to observing instead of simply seeing.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes." Adelaide's cheeks flushed every so slightly more, but her posture and expression didn't change, save for the quick quirk at the corner of her mouth and her eyes seemed to sparkle even more brilliantly - the beginnings of a smile.

"Sherlock, please." Sherlock stood and offered his hand to Adelaide. After a quick glance at Mycroft - almost as if she were asking permission - which was returned with a minuscule nod, she accepted Sherlock's outstretched hand and shook it gracefully and professionally.

Unless John was very much mistaken, the same beginning of a smile was playing around the corner of Sherlock's lips also. They released hands and John felt it was only polite to follow Sherlock's lead.

"John Watson, call me John." Adelaide took his offered hand without hesitation - clearly the permission from Mycroft regarded the both of them, or Adelaide was only wary of the younger Holmes, which was understandable, given that she was working for Mycroft - and shook it with the same professional manner that she had with Sherlock.

Her hands were soft, probably through use of some top of the range hand cream that cost more than John's monthly salary. John smiled at her, and was pleasantly surprised when she returned it fully, not just a hint at the corner of her mouth, but a full smile, which spread across her face, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth, which made her face light up in genuine warmth. She held John's friendly gaze before he let go of her hand and moved back to her position in the doorway, although this time, she seemed more relaxed than before. Maybe being introduced to the inhabitants of Baker Street had put her more at ease with her surroundings.

"You never answered my question, Mycroft. What do you want?"

Sherlock had turned his attention back to his brother, all warmth from his face that had been directed at Adelaide has completely vanished, replaced by cold distrust.

Mycroft inspected his fingernails (also perfect manicured) lazily, picking at a non-existing piece of dirt before looking back at his brother, chin aloft so he looked aloof, as if Sherlock was really not worth his time and he was only here out of a sense of family duty.

"I have a case for you, Sherlock."

"No." The reply was immediate, and John had been expecting it. Sherlock loathed to accept any case from his brother, but John often found that Mycroft's cases were a great deal more important that any of the ones the Yard could provide for him. Because of this, John always encouraged Sherlock to take Mycroft's cases, and had succeeded several times - providing that the cases were at least an eight.

"I assure you, you'll want to take this case."

"I'm not interested Mycroft."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft with a burning intensity. Clearly the presence of both John and Adelaide did not deter Sherlock from indulging his habit of being contrary with Mycroft. He swept up off of the sofa, still dressed in his pyjama trousers, a t-shirt and his blue, silk dressing gown. He picked up his violin and began screeching out harsh, high-pitched notes, a clear dismissal for Mycroft.

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes as Sherlock continued playing.

"It's Moran."

Sherlock immediately stopped playing and froze, his back to them, bow still lifted to the beautiful instrument at his neck. Carefully, slowly, he lowered both the violin and the bow, until the hung loosely at his side.

"You traced him?"

"Yes."

"Where is he now?" Sherlock turned to face his brother. Mycroft turned to Adelaide, who was already typing furiously on the phone in her hand. It was the first time her attention had been focused on it since she walked into the flat, but it was obvious that she was very confident and competent at working the small device.

"To our current knowledge," she answered, not taking her eyes from the phone, clearly reading data and reports on the small screen, "he's in London. We have five possible addresses where he could be hiding. All of them are under surveillance."

"You've not approached them?"

Mycroft answered.

"Too dangerous. He's ex-military Sherlock. He'll be armed, and he'll know we're watching him. He'll be on alert and I won't risk the lives of hardworking, innocent people."

It was the first time Mycroft had ever spoken of his employees in such a manner. _Maybe_, thought John, _this new girl, Adelaide, is having a good effect on him. He's finally seeing them as people._

Sherlock flopped - for there was no other word for it - into his own armchair, now sitting opposite Mycroft, bought his hands together and steepled his fingers under his chin. After thinking for a few moments, Sherlock spoke again.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

This was a question that John had also been wondering, but he knew better than to interrupt Sherlock and Mycroft when they were locked in an exchange such as this one. The last time he had attempted it, he had been on the receiving end of a particularly cold look from the both of them.

"Find him, find out what he's doing and stop him. He's been building up to this ever since he broadcast that video."

Sherlock had found out it was Moran broadcasting Moriarty's face all across Britain three months after the incident occurred. Mycroft and Sherlock had both been in agreement that there was nothing they could do at this point. Moran had been trying to get Sherlock's attention, but had a better way of doing this than Moriarty. John shuddered as he remembered all the lives that had been lost during, what he had titled in his blog, 'The Great Game'.

"But it's been two years," John found himself stating.

"Two years of him waiting, planning." Mycroft stared at John as he spoke. Sherlock was still staring into nothing, clearly lost in his mind palace. "He's planning something large, or he wouldn't have returned to London. It's something that needs him personally involved, not a task that can be carried out at a distance."

"Why me?" Asked Sherlock, returning from the confines of his own mind and turning his attentions back to the present conversation. "Why not another of your minions?" It was another good question that had also been bothering John.

Since the shooting, John had been fiercely protective of the impulsive detective. John carried his gun almost everywhere with them nowadays, and never let Sherlock alone on a case. If Sherlock ran off to chase a suspect, so did John. If Sherlock needed to visit Scotland Yard at 3am, so did John. John could sleep easy at night knowing that he had provided Sherlock with the back-up that he so often needed. To hear that this case was potentially so dangerous that Mycroft was unwilling to put his own men onto it, well, John would be lying if he said it didn't worry him.

"He's the last piece of the puzzle, Sherlock." Ah. Mycroft had used the magic words. There was no way that Sherlock could refuse this request now, not when there was a puzzle to solve. "The one loose end you left behind after your two year interlude. He's the last remaining active member of Moriarty's network."

Sherlock's eyes lit up at the prospect of solving the puzzle, the last strand of the network that Sherlock had work so hard, and so tirelessly to dismantle.

"Tell me as much as you can."

Mycroft's face morphed into a brief expression of smugness, before turning to the doorway.

"Adelaide?"

"Already sending him the files, sir." Her fingers flew over the buttons, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. With that, Mycroft rose from John's chair and moved to accompany Adelaide in the doorway.

"Good day, Sherlock. Doctor Watson." John nodded to Mycroft, who returned it politely, before turning to exit the flat. John noticed, as he turned, Mycroft's hand rested lightly on Adelaide's elbow, leading her out of the door, and out of sight. John listened to the two of them descending the stairs, and then the click of the front door which signaled their exit from Baker Street.

John looked to Sherlock, who was already pacing around the living room, buzzing with anticipation. His eye were lit up with a manic glee, like a child in a sweet shop with an unlimited budget. He turned to John, and surged forward, grabbing both of his shoulders.

"John, the game is on."


	2. Chapter 2

It was the second Friday of the month.

Sherlock had spent the entirety of his time pouring over every scrap of data that Mycroft had sent through Adelaide. Everything had been pinned to the wall, covering so much of it that John now struggled to see any of the intricately patterned wall paper. Daily reports of the five possible holding places for Moran were hand delivered by Adelaide every day at 7pm without fail. There would be three sharp rings of the doorbell, followed by a short pause and then two longer rings. Whoever was closest would go to answer the door, where Adelaide would be waiting patiently on the top step. She never had a hair out of place, looking incredibly calm and collected in the professional manner that they had come to expect of Mycroft's employees. She would hand over a plain, black file to whoever had greeted her. The only markings on it would be a stamp of the date in the upper right-hand corner.

More often than not, John would exchange a small smile with her, which she would return in a shy manner, as if she were afraid to get caught by Mycroft for the slip in her professional style.

By the fourth visit, John had managed to engage her in conversation - mindless small talk about the weather or how their day's had been. Adelaide's response had always been the same - "busy". When the reached the week mark, Sherlock did something rather unexpected. He strutted back into the flat, Adelaide following cautiously behind him.

"John, Adelaide and I would like tea," he would exclaim before throwing himself down melodramatically on the sofa. John saw Adelaide hide a smile as she observed Sherlock's behaviour, before turning to him and offering to help with the tea making. It was a pleasant change to have company as he made the tea.

From that day, Adelaide was always welcome in the flat for tea as she dropped off the files. It took her a while to open up to both John and Sherlock, but soon she had warmed to them and became very involved in their discussions, be it about the case, or about life in general.

The night before, Sherlock had quizzed Adelaide about what it was like to work for Mycroft. It soon became clear that Adelaide had a wicked sense of humour to match Sherlock's as the two of them exchanged horror stories about the eldest Holmes brother.

The evenings spent with Adelaide seemed to have put Sherlock in a reasonably good mood, or so John assumed. There had been no sulking or angry violin concerts. In fact, it was one of the most pleasant mornings that John remembered having at Baker Street. All the evidence was pinned to the wall, which Sherlock was giving his undivided attention to, although occasionally, he bounced an idea or theory off of John, or asked him his opinion. John felt included, despite the fact that his primary role in the flat during a case was tea-maker.

But most importantly to John on this particular morning, it was the second Friday of the month. Which meant that he would get to spend the rest of the weekend with Olivia.

At 10am, there was a ring of the doorbell. John jumped up from his armchair at the shrill sound, his chest filling with elation at the prospect of a day with his daughter. By now it should feel like routine, Olivia visiting every other weekend. But it never became just another part of his to do list. John was always excited to spend time with his daughter. She was the most important thing in the world to him.

John nearly tripped down the stairs in his eagerness to get to the door. He took a moment to compose himself before opening it.

In the doorway stood Mary, Olivia in her arms, settled quite happily on her hip.

The sunlight danced off of their blonde hair, framing their faces and making them look almost angelic.

"Daddy!" Olivia held her arms out to John, who immediately gathered her up for a big 'daddy hug'. Olivia wrapped her arms tightly round his neck, and John could feel Mary relinquish her hold on her, so Olivia could wrap her legs around his middle. John held her even tighter as Olivia buried her face into his neck and settled there. John turned and pressed a kiss against her head.

"Hey there, bumblebee!" It was John's preferred pet name for his daughter. It sprung up when Sherlock had been reading an article about bees to her, and she had pointed to a picture and proclaimed "bee". It had bee a very proud day for both John and Sherlock, who had bee incredible pleased at her ability to pick out the words he was reading to her.

John pivoted so Olivia was positioned inside Baker Street. He held onto her with one arm, whilst holding out his arm to Mary, who accepted the other and the three of them shared a close, warm hug. John and Mary may have been divorced, but it didn't stop them trying to be as normal a family as possible. John still loved Mary, in a way. But not in the way that meant either of them would have been comfortable with had they still been married.

"Daddy, mummy took me to the park." Olivia was clearly unhappy about no longer being the centre of attention, as so decided that she was to be in command of this conversation.

"Did she now? Did you have a nice time?"

"I hope we did." Mary smiled at John. That had been the first thing about Mary that John had fallen in love with. It was a beautiful smile. One that not only lit up her face, but lit up the room, and you had to smile back. John chose instead to smile at his daughter as she told him all about her adventure at the park.

"And then I went down the slide with mummy, and then we fed the ducks."

"Sounds like you had a busy day," John said nodding his head along to Olivia's story. "Not too tired to stay with daddy are you?" He leaned in and smothered her in kisses everywhere he could reach.

"Stop, daddy, it tickles." She giggled with unabashed glee, pulling him into an even tighter hug. She kissed his cheek. It was sloppy, and left John's cheek covered in a layer of saliva, but John profusely did not care.

He often worried about whether Olivia actually wanted to spend weekends with him, wondering if she disliked the time she spent with him, preferring the company of her mother. Hugs, kisses, her obvious delight reassured him that even if he didn't see her as often as he wanted, she clearly loved him, and was excited to see him. And if he only got to see her every other weekend (unless Mary and he arranged another meeting during the week), then he was going to cherish it, and make sure that Olivia had as much fun as possible, and knew exactly how much John adored her.

"Well, let's get you in and settled. Would you like to pop in for tea, Mary?"

John turned back to his ex-wife. It was a sincere gesture. John still considered Mary a friend, despite their past, and he knew that he felt the same way towards him.

"Uh," Mary thought for a moment, looking over her shoulder before turning back to John with an ever so slightly guilty expression, "no, I won't today. I'm meeting Janine for lunch at that new café you told me about. But maybe I'll take you up on the offer on Sunday when I pick Olivia up."

She smiled hopefully up at John, as if afraid to ask because she was scared of John rejecting her again, even over a small matter such as tea. He nodded to her, confirming that she could indeed have tea with them on Sunday. John wasn't sure how Sherlock would react to it, but he'd just have to accept that it was happening. Mary was very much still part of John's life, and Sherlock needed to get used to that.

"Yeah, you'll like that café. You're still friends with Janine?"

"I regret using her to get to Magnussen, but I actually enjoy her company and we've become very good friends." Mary wrapped her arms around herself, a defensive position, but still with underlying layers of shyness. It was funny, in a way, how scared Mary was of John now, scared of his judgement.

"Fair enough. We'll see you on sunday, then. Say goodbye to mummy, Olivia."

Olivia detached one of her arms from around John's neck to wave at Mary.

"Bye, mummy."

Mary moved forwards to hug them both again, kissing Olivia's forehead as she did so.

"Bye-bye darling. Be good for your daddy. I love you."

"Love you, too," said their daughter, who'd already snuggled comfortably into the crook of her daddy's neck again.

Mary handed over Olivia's weekend bag, and then turned to leave. They stood at the doorstep, watching as Mary descended the front steps and turned right down Baker Street. John and Olivia both waved to her until she was out of sight. Only then did John turn into 221 and close the door to the outside world, making his, Sherlock's and Mrs Hudson's home a safe haven, cut off from the dangers and the worries of the world around them.

"Come on then, bumblebee," said John as he gently lowered his daughter to the ground so she could stand beside him. She held onto his hand. "Sherlock's upstairs."

"Sherlock!"

Olivia looked longingly to the ceiling above her, and then back to John with big, pleading eyes. He sighed.

"Go on then, you know where you're going."

She released the viper like grip on his hand and ran towards the stairs. John moved to follow her up, holding his hands of just in case she tripped up and fell. She burst into the flat and ran straight to the detective, wrapping her arms around his knees and hugging him so tight he was nearly thrown off balance.

"Sherlock!" She squealed. Sherlock bent down to pick her up, giving her an equally tight hug and then swinging her around the room. Olivia giggled and kicked her legs out, enjoying the feeling of flying through the air.

"Hello Olivia. Ooh, when did you get so big and tall, eh?" He bought her back down for another hug, resting her casually on his hip in the same position as Mary had been in when John had opened the door to them. Olivia cuddled into his chest.

"I missed you." Her words were muffled by Sherlock's suit jacket, but he and John were so used to Olivia's voice that they could still interpret it, even as it spoke directly into thick layers of very expensive fabric.

"I've missed you too, Olivia." Sherlock kissed the top of her head, just as John had done. Sherlock was very fond of Olivia, in fact, he adored her. John believed it was due to her above average development - especially her speech, but it was probably inherited from the assassin side of the family.

Sherlock was very protective of Olivia, especially when they took her to crime scenes. Just because Donovan and Anderson were enchanted by Olivia now, didn't mean they always had been. The first time Olivia had accompanied them to a crime scene, when she was a little older than 14 months, and toddling along, Donovan had said something particularly cutting about how John was raising his daughter incorrectly, made snide comments to anderson about how Olivia was going to turn out with John as a father and Sherlock constantly present, and questioned why John even let Sherlock be around such a young child. Sherlock had swooped down to pick Olivia up, turned to Donovan and instantly lay into her.

"What we have here, Olivia, is a classic example of and ignorant idiot who can't see any further past her own nose. If she could, not only would this tedious and appallingly easy case be solved already, but she would also be able to see what a tremendous job your father is doing, even after going through a recent divorce which means he can only see you every other weekend. The three of us shall now return to Baker Street and not give another thought to the case because I refuse to work with people who think anything other than you are going to grow up into a beautiful young lady with a heart of gold from your dad and a razor sharp mind from your mum. Good day Lestrade."

And with that, he had simply stalked off the crime scene to hail a cab to take them home. John had felt a stab of pride at Sherlock's words, as if his approval is something he'd always been missing, needing it to confirm that his efforts to raise his daughter despite the limitations were working. Hearing Sherlock declare in front of the whole of Lestrade's team that he, John Watson, was a good father, made him feel like one.

"What's that?"

Olivia was now pointing to the wall which was plastered with data. Her eyes had widened in awe at the sight, as if it was the most beautiful, incredible sight she had ever seen.

"I have a case." Was Sherlock's simple, yet honest reply. Sherlock believed in speaking to Olivia as if she were an adult, and refused to 'dumb down' his language for such reasons as "she's only three years old."

"Tell me about it?"

Sherlock turned so that both he and Olivia was facing John, Olivia looking expectant, Sherlock looking hesitant.

"If that's okay with your dad."

Sherlock only ever asked permission about things that concerned Olivia. John knew it was because Sherlock knew that he would be overstepping some undisscussed but ever present line that John had drawn regarding Sherlock's cases.

"Daddy, please?"

Olivia's eyes went wide and pleading. She stuck her bottom lip out and the beginnings of tears shimmered in her blue eyes that she inherited from him.

Her ability to manipulate her cuteness? The ability to turn on the tears and use them for her own benefit? That was definitely not inherited. That was all Sherlock. John knew he shouldn't have left the two of them alone together for any longer than five seconds. They were partners on crime, and their soul aim was to get John to do whatever they wanted.

Damn, Sherlock had taught her well. How could he say no to a face like that?

"Go on then. No gory details though, Sherlock."

Sherlock whined. Whining was supposed to be the job of the actual three year old, but when had his age ever prevented Sherlock acting like a toddler?

"But John, that's what makes cases so interesting."

John sent him 'the look'. It was a look he'd perfected over years of living with Sherlock.

"Sherlock, she's three."

They both looked to Olivia who, of course, was too enraptured with the contents on the wall to actually notice or care that they were discussing her.

"Problem?"

Clearly she looked so interested in his work that Sherlock genuinely did not see the problem with exposing a three year old girl to all of the grisly details of a case.

"Bit not good, mate." John shook his head, resigned to the fact that even though Sherlock asked permission from John first did not actually mean that he would listen to the answer. "Alright, bumblebee, you sit in daddy's chair whilst Sherlock tells you about the case, and daddy will go upstairs and unpack your bag."

Sherlock placed Olivia on the floor, and she immediately clambered onto John's chair, turning her entire attention to Sherlock, who began explaining exactly what was happening in the case. They were so wrapped up in each other, John had to take his phone out to snap a photo of his daughter and his best friend. As he made his way up the stairs he sent the picture to Mary.

The reply came just as he was unpacking Olivia's bag into the drawer he always kept empty for her.

Sweet. Try to stay out of trouble you three. Tell her mummy sends her big hugs and kisses - Mary x

Sherlock spent the rest of the day wrapped up in the case. John spent it by continuing to teach Olivia to read and write. It was a joint effort between himself and Mary, and they seemed to be succeeding, despite their situation. She loved to write the alphabet, but when it came to forming words with those letter, she struggled slightly. John was patient and supportive, just as a dad should be to his little girl. Olivia was very adept at writing her own name, which was of course, her favourite word. She wrote it in big, looping letter, which were a little shaky, but definitely legible as her name. John had never been more proud.

After practicing their writing, John set about making spaghetti and tomato sauce, Olivia's favourite. Yes, he was spoiling her. No, he didn't feel bad about it. Sherlock joined them for dinner at the table, praising Olivia for her handwriting skills.

"You'll be a better writer than your dad in no time."

John kicked him playfully under the table, trying to smother the smile that he knew was spreading across his features. Sherlock grinned and winked at John. Olivia didn't notice the exchange, too busy concentrating on making sure that all the food in her bowl made it to her mouth.

After John finished clearing dinner away, he sat himself down in his chair and pulled Olivia onto his lap. Sherlock had returned to the case, and was spread across the sofa in his 'thinking pose'. John ignored this in favour of his favourite pre-bedtime activity - reading to Olivia.

Currently, he was reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to her. Olivia had a sweet tooth, and she loved to listen to all the vivid descriptions of the wonders that were held within Wonka's factory.

She was snuggled up against him, a warm bundle against his front. He held the book out in front of the both of them so she could see the illustrations. She pointed to any she particularly liked to draw John's attention to it as well.

Four chapters in, there was a familiar pattern of ringing on the doorbell. Sherlock's eyes flashed open, and he bolted to the door. John looked down at his watch. 7pm exactly.

"Daddy, who's that?"

"It's a visitor for Sherlock," John explained, before kissing her lightly on the head and continuing with the story.

As John was reading, he heard the familiar footsteps that meant Adelaide was following Sherlock up the stairs. Sherlock entered first, moving to the desk to deposit the latest file that Adelaide had delivered. Adelaide followed closely behind.

"Good evening John, oh!" She spotted the small bundle curled up in the chair with John. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude on your evening, I'll just-"

John interrupted her with a warm smile as he shifted in his chair to bring Olivia into a sitting position on his lap.

"Adelaide, this is Olivia, my daughter."

"Yes, I'm well aware of who she is."

John was not surprised by the news. Mycroft probably had a file on her. It would make sense, seeing as she's the daughter of an assassin and Sherlock's best friend.

He turned to Olivia and said very softly, "Olivia, this is Adelaide. She's helping Sherlock with his case."

Olivia usually shied away from strangers, and this time was no different. She shifted closer to John, burying her cheek into his chest, eyes still watching this new person.

"Hi."

"Gosh, she's beautiful." Adelaide studied Olivia from the doorway, and at John's nod of encouragement, moved closer. "She has your eyes."

"I know, thank you." John smiled at Adelaide. She was considerably nicer than any other employee of Mycroft's he'd ever met, and he hoped she stayed with him forever. It was a childish thought, but John was so overcome with warmth and pride at Adelaide's words that he could not help but think this way. John ducked his head down to Olivia's, pressing a kiss to her blonde waves. "Come on bumblebee, no need to be shy."

Olivia still looked warily at Adelaide, not moving an inch. Sherlock knelt down next to John's chair and pressed a reassuring hand on her back.

"Adelaide's a nice person, Olivia," Sherlock encouraged. "She's not scary. Her boss on the other hand-"

"Sherlock."

John sent him 'the look'.

At Sherlock's words, Olivia sat up slowly, holding on tightly to John, as if she was scared that if she spoke to the strange lady, her daddy would disappear forever.

"You help Sherlock?"

Adelaide smiled and nodded.

"Yes, I do. It's my job."

"Wrong. It's daddy's job."

John, Adelaide and even Sherlock burst into laughter at Olivia's indignation. It was true. Helping Sherlock had certainly become a full-time occupation for John, even though he was still working shifts at Sarah's clinic.

"Well, you're quite right there." Adelaide tried to stifle her giggles. "I don't really help, just show up and give Sherlock and your daddy different pieces of paper."

Olivia looked from Adelaide to Sherlock, who nodded encouragingly. He and John were united in the effort to bring Olivia out of her shell.

"Show me?"

Adelaide beamed at her, clearly please with the progress they were making. She bought out some very official looking pieces of paper, and made a show of walking across the room to give them to Sherlock, who straightened up as Adelaide approached him.

"See, now I give the file to Sherlock, who reads it and decides whether it's helpful or not. You try."

Adelaide held out the paper to Olivia, who stared at it wide eye and eager. She scrambled from John's chair and took the paper from Adelaide. John stood with Sherlock as they watched Adelaide giving Olivia instructions.

"Are they actual government files?" John asked in a quiet voice.

Sherlock scoffed at him, eyes not leaving the two girls.

"Honestly, John. Adelaide is not stupid. Of course they're not real government files."

John nodded in acceptance. Of course Adelaide would never let anything of importance out of her hands, especially into the hands of a three year old. Sherlock, maybe, it wouldn't be surprising. But Adelaide worked for Mycroft. And Mycroft would never allow such a thing to occur.

Both he and Sherlock watched as Olivia began to walk across the room, carrying the 'files' to Sherlock as if she were carrying the crown jewels. He steps were slow and careful. Adelaide followed behind her, speaking words of encouragement as she did so.

"That's it, very good. Wow, you're better at my job than I am."

Olivia increased the pace for her last few steps, determined to reach her target. Sherlock was waiting, hands open, where Olivia efficiently placed the paper.

"Thank you Olivia, I'm sure I'll solve the case in no time thanks to your help."

Olivia smiled, her face filled with joy and pride as she ran to John, who swept her up into his arms and pulled her close against him.

"Daddy, did you see? I helped Sherlock!"

"Yes I did." He kissed her cheek, and Olivia giggled at the affection, but hugged him tighter, arms wrapped firmly around John's neck, face burried into his warm skin. "Well done, bumblebee. Daddy's very proud."

Olivia shifted her head ever so slightly and whispered into John's ear, "I like the lady, daddy."

John also tucked his face closer to his daughter's to whisper back, "Good. I'm sure she likes you too." He turned his attention to Adelaide, who watched the two of them with a wistful expression, her mouth curled into a fond smile. "Now, were you staying for tea tonight Adelaide?"

"I thought you'd never ask, John." She smiled even wider, and Sherlock took her aside to discuss the case and, inevitably, Mycroft's most recent diet. John moved into the kitchen, Olivia still tucked up against him, balancing her on his hip so he had his left hand free to make the tea.

He looked back into the living room to see Sherlock and Adelaide engrossed in what John thought was a very serious conversation, until he heard the words 'excessive cake eating habits'.

John couldn't help but smile as he turned back to the tea.

Yes, Mycroft definitely needed to keep Adelaide forever.


	3. Author's note

Author's note-

Really sorry if you guys thought this was an update!

Just a note to say that unfortunately, a lot of my time has been taken up by work at the moment. As in I'm working 5 days a week in one job, another day in another job and on my one and only day off I'm doing a voluntary placement at a school. Altogether, this means I haven't had time to sit down and write these fics.

Just to clarify, I AM NOT ABANDONING THIS FIC! I fully intend to keep writing, but until my life calms down a bit, it's going to be difficult! Stay with me guys, I still have a way to go with this.

Thank you all so much for your continued support of this story, it ruled couldn't do it without you! Hopefully I'll see you soon with another chapter!

All my love,

Scarlett xxxx


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